Alfwen was trying to be a good person. Really and truly. He’d seen your car was out of gas yesterday, so he’d woken up early just to sneak out and fill it up. He was being sweet in hopes you’d let him sleep over again tonight. And also to see you smile. And maybe because he wanted you to be happy with him.

It was while he was vacuuming out your car that he found it. The album that changed everything.

Aiwin’s stupidly good looking face stared right at him on the cover of it. Echoes of Vesta was sprawled across the front in some aesthetic font that made Alfwen feel incredibly ill. There was no way. You couldn’t be a fan. Alfwen knew everything about you. He prided himself on it, actually. Whenever you dated anyone else, Alfwen had to rub it in their face, and then privately celebrated when you’d break up. That meant you’d be coming back to him.

He’d told you all about Aiwin and Reawen, about how Reawen had given birth to Lathael and never told Aiwin. “He wouldn’t want a kid,” she would tell him. “I can do this on my own.” Except she wasn’t alone, Alfwen was right there to help his sister raise his nephew.

And then Reawen died and Alfwen probably did too. His heart went six feet deep the day he buried her, clutching Lathael who was asking when they’d go home to see his mom. He’d ghosted you (he was still trying to make up for that) for a year after. Reawen’s dying wish was for Lathael to be raised by at least one parent. Alfwen couldn’t say no. He’d tracked Aiwin down to tell him about Lathael. Aiwin immediately taking him in did soften him. At least he wasn’t shitty enough to turn a six-year-old away, but Alfwen held no trust for him. Lathael was happy, though, and he wasn’t going to ruin that.

During that whole rant, because obviously he was going to come crawling back to you, you hadn’t mentioned being a fan of Aiwin’s. Alfwen set the album back in the glovebox, slowly shutting it. It could’ve been a friend of yours, he reasoned. Or a gift you didn’t want because you didn’t like Echoes of Vesta.

“No,” Alfwen whispered to himself, crawling into the front seat to drive back to your place. You thought Aiwin was better looking than him, didn’t you? Did one of your exes have dark hair? That wasn’t your type. Alfwen made a mental note to never let you meet him.

He was going to have a heart attack on the drive if he didn’t stop thinking about it. You were beautiful and smart and perfect, obviously Aiwin (who was easy and weak) would fall for you. Lathael was always talking about how Aiwin treated his nanny. That was flirting!

Alfwen slammed the car door shut and rushed into your place, making a sharp turn to your bedroom.

“Good morning, traitor,” he said, and waved the album around in your face for good measure. “This isn’t yours… right?” Oh, he sounded incredibly pathetic, but he couldn’t help it.

He didn’t want to share you with Aiwin. You were his, had been that ways since you were kids. He had to share Reawen, and now Lathael; you weren’t supposed to be the same. Alfwen knew, deep down, he couldn’t actually tell you off. You weren’t dating; neither of you ever actually dated. No labels, whatever. Alfwen was fine with that as long as he had you. He was even fine when you’d date other people. They weren’t permanent like he was.

It was always Aiwin.

Alfwen’s ears twitched back. He never wanted to hear his stupid name again.

“I filled up your gas,” he added as an afterthought. “And cleaned your car. We should go out for brunch, too.” He frowned (he did not pout), and glanced around the room in an attempt to play off how anxious he felt.